Ebony does Wammy's House
by frotman
Summary: This is a parody of "My Immortal", infamous for being the "worst fanfiction ever". The work has been transposed to the Death Note universe.
1. Chapter 1

Ebony does Wammy's House

This is a parody of "My Immortal", infamous for being the "worst fanfiction ever". The work has been transposed to the Death Note universe. I have only written one chapter so far. If I get enough encouraging reviews I'll keep writing. Otherwise, I will just leave it stillborn, as Mother Nature so wisely intended.

Chapter 1

AN: Disclaimer: no dictionaries or spell-checkers were consulted before, during, or after the authorship of this story. "Rules of grammar", you say? Screw you! Rules are for the Little People; I'm an anarchist. Jeez, get off my back already, bitch! Also, if you're looking for better plotting and characterisation, you should probably read Shades of Grey instead. So, for those who are still with me, I'll begin ...

Wammy's House had never been the same since Harry Styles, "the charming one" from One Direction, had deliberately masturbated into the drinking water. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in retrospect not so much. Wammy's House was an all-boys orphanage, and their behaviour had worsened rapidly since that event. They no longer put much effort into studying. Instead, all they seemed to do all day was stay in the dorms and play with each other's yaoi holes.

Even L, who was a model student, found his grades slipping below acceptable standards. He rarely slept properly nowadays, and black rings had formed around his eyes. His posture had worsened, too. Confronted by his change in behaviour, L merely shrugged and said he had eschewed traditional conformal learning techniques for a more "hands-on" "autodidactic" approach.

Harry, who was the headmaster of the orphanage, decided that desperate measures needed to be taken. Henceforth, Wammy's House would, he declared, open its doors to a girl to see if she could straighten the lads out. That's where I come in.

My name is Ebony Pussy Dysentery Galore, and I have chronic dysentery (that's how I got my name). Many people come up to me and say "Hey, aren't you Mary Sue?" but I be like "back off, bitch, would Mary Sue drink blood like a vampire?" Then they don't mess with me no more.

My hair is as black as a raven. My eyes are brown, an island surrounded in the brilliant white sea of my sclera (whites of my eye, dumbass), much like a chocolate fish would swim in a toilet for which flushing was but a distant memory. Some people say I look like Marilyn Manson on crystal meth.

I get my clothes mostly from Superdry. I wear The Rebel Sunglasses - nineteen pounds ninety-nine pence online at .com - a black Vintage Fete Print Cami Dress – thirty-four pounds ninety-nine pence – Luxe Lace Bikini Top – twenty-four pounds ninety-nine pence – and Luxe Lace Bikini Bottom – nineteen pounds ninety-nice pence. You can sometimes get them cheaper in sales and with promotional codes. All prices are subject to change and are dependent on the availability of the garments. Standard delivery for the UK is free, with a 48 hour tracked service. If you are not completely satisfied with your purchase, you can simply return the item or items to them in their original condition within 28 days of receipt. They probably just give them a quick spritz with some kind of deodorant if you return them, and repackage them for ongoing sale, hoping that nobody will notice.

Superdry's international flagship store is on Regent Street, in London, and opened in 2012. They let me have the clothes for nothing, as an ambassador for the company. Everyone always assumes that the Japanese-style writing on their clothes is meaningless. However, I am fluent in kanji, and I giggle each time I see the logo, as it means "Asian men have small winkies".

I am not related in any way to Danny Bonaduce, for which I am grateful, because he definitely fell from the Ugly Tree, hitting every branch on the way down. Oh, and did I tell you that I am a vampire – because that's going to be important later? And a witch. I have pale white skin, but you probably figured that out from the Manson and crystal meth reference. I'm insane (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black.

This is my first day at Wammy's House. "Wazzup Ebony", a voice shouted loudly. I looked up. It was ... Draco Malfoy ... no, I mean Near.

"What's up Near?" I asked.

"Nothing", said the shy boy without zygotes.

I heard Harry Styles calling in the distance, so I made like a tree, and left. I mean leave. Leaves. That doesn't work, does it? Let's try that sentence again: so I made like my pants, and split.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Just the ticket

I awoke the next day in a drunken stupor, having only a vague recollection as to what happened the night before. I had passed out in a ditch the previous night, and my hair was matted, with a faint smell of vomit.

My best friend, Twiglet was still fast asleep. She had formed a spoon position with me, and one of her hands was between my legs, uncomfortably close to my ladyparts. I opened my legs, and removed her hand. Twiglet stirred from her slumber, and licked her dry, parched lips in confusion.

I sat up, and rummaged through the carrier bag to my side. There was an assortment of bottles of alcohol, and a half-eaten pizza smeared over the rest of the contents of the bag. I pulled out two bottles of Bloody Maries, and handed one of them to Twiglet. She fumbled with the bottle-cap, still in a dazed state, but eventually managed to open it. We both downed our drinks, feeling much better for it. "Pizza?" I enquired.

Meanwhile, across town, in Wammy's House, Harry Styles, its principal, and lead singer in One Direction, had summoned Near to his office. He thought the boy to be unhealthily pale, and wanted to do something to help. "What you need, young man", said Harry, "is some good exercise. And what better exercise than dance can there be?"

Near chewed on his lower lip doubtfully. "I'd sooner play Dungeons and Dragons or build a miniature raft out of tampons", he said, drily.

"Nonsense. Now look here", said Harry masterfully, "Me and the rest of One Direction are having a concert in a few days. I'm going to give you a couple of tickets so that you and a nice bit of side-crumpet can attend and score some action. You're going to need to learn some dance moves, first, though, and I'm going to teach you. Watch this!"

Harry then proceeded to flounce about in the middle of the study like a dad who tries too hard to be cool at wedding, before promptly tripping over his own feet and falling sideways onto the floor. Near rolled his eyes.

Harry picked himself up from the floor and smoothed out his hair, trying not to look embarrassed. "OK, well that is just a new move me and the lads are working on", he said by way of recovering his credibility. "Anyway, actual technique is not so important at your level. That's for pros like me to worry about. What really gets the women every time, though, is a move I call 'The Monkey Handles Some Peaches'. You know what that is?"

Near folded his arms and sighed a disinterested breath. Lightning quick, Harry grabbed Near's groin. Near doubled over and spluttered, protecting his crotch instinctively. He glared at Harry disbelievingly. Harry said cheerfully, "That, my friend, is 'The Monkey'. And for God's sake lighten up, man. I do this to guys all the time; when I'm not doing it to myself, that is. Just do that at the concert, and you're sure to get all the girls. Maybe snog another boy, too. That really gets them drooling".

Harry then reached into his trouser pockets, fumbled around with great theatricality, and produced two concert tickets. He planted them into Near's hands, returned to his desk, and started fiddling around with some papers on it. The lesson was, evidently, over.

Later in the day, Twiglet and I were chilling out in the Common Room. Near happened to walk past, and spotted us. He poked his head through the door, and spoke to me. "Ebony, I have a couple of tickets for the upcoming One Direction concert. If you like, you can have one, and we can go together. You wouldn't believe the trouble I had to get them. Harry, he grabbed my peewee, you know. Anyway, later". Then he left.

Me and Twiglet turned to each other. "Oh my God, oh my God", I said. "I love One Direction". I stared dreamily into the distance and imagined, over and over, what it must have been like for Harry Styles to have grabbed Near so intimately.

Twiglet looked at me with excited glee. "Near, he's so dreamy, what with his cute curly white hair and his alphabetically arranged collection of ladies panties, and all. Are you going to go to the concert with him?"


End file.
